


Bring Me Home In A Blinding Dream

by witchkings



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Blowjobs, Cheating, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Doriath, Forbidden Lust, M/M, Pining, Smut, Unrequited Love, bachelor!celeborn, childhood besties thrandy and luthien, court intrigue, doriath culture, lonely husband thingol, marriage problems, pre-dagorlad!thranduil, thingol is overwhelmed, thranduil has too much time, youngadult!thranduil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:47:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25551526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchkings/pseuds/witchkings
Summary: Thranduil feels deprived of love as Oropher is preoccupied by his duties at court in Doriath. He looks for affection elsewhere and King Thingol readily provides a father figure. Neither of them is prepared for what Thranduil truly desires.
Relationships: Elu Thingol | Elwë Singollo/Thranduil
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	Bring Me Home In A Blinding Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nznk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nznk/gifts).



> This was written as part of a trade with my friend (eol on tumblr, go visit her blog, her drawings are amazing) who convinced me to contribute to the meager Thingol/Thranduil tag here on AO3. These two work well together, especially in light of Thranduil's conception in the Hobbit movies which was inspired by Thingol. I like how it turned out and I hope she does too :D 
> 
> The title is a line from Linkin Park's 'Castle of Glass'.
> 
> Enjoy :)

„Will you join us tonight, ada?“ Thranduil asked as he emerged from his chambers, putting on his favourite rings. Silver with gems of pale arctic, twisted vines that gave the impression of wild ivy curling up his fingers. It was a fine day in Menegroth, the air flow supplemented with the sweet fragrances of a spring in the woods. Bluebells and anemones, and fields of snowdrops. He could hear deer prancing overhead, and the unique music, laughter, smith work, bird song, of Thingol’s court seeping into every corner of his kingdom. Thranduil smiled. It was truly a day to be glee- and grateful on.

„I cannot,“ Oropher murmured. He was bent over his desk in the living space of the complex he and Thranduil shared, golden curls liquid in the light of the fire, spilling over his backside, onto the sturdy wood, veiling what he wrote with hasty scratches of his quill. Thranduil sighed. It always came down to this. Oropher was busy, engaged, had an appointment, had work to do. Such was the life of a respectable member of court, Thranduil, and you would do well to watch and learn instead of idling about the kingdom, caught in your merry-making and romanticized view of this world.

„A pity,“ he said and tip-toed over. Oropher was back into ledgers and documents already, brow scrunched up, sweat beading on his temples. Thranduil leaned down to place a soft kiss on his father’s cheek, then left their chambers, the train of his newest overtunic trailing after him in a river of azure. It was a fine honour indeed, to be invited to dine with the royal family and Thranduil was brimming with excitement, bees buzzing inside his chest, akin to their brothers on the surface who went about nourishing this new season. Thranduil smiled as he passed his kin, nodded to the various relations of the other princes. He passed Celeborn who sat in an alcove of moss, caught in some scripture.

„Good evening, my friend,“ Thranduil said, halting with his hands clasped behind his back. He squared his shoulders, the way Thingol did when addressing his court. Celeborn was slow to notice him, smile lazy when he saw who it was that had torn him out of his focus.

„Thranduil,“ he said simply and his voice was deep and melodic. „You look fit for a royal party.“

„Which is where I am headed. Will you not join me?“

„Ah, I have no patience for etiquette tonight. Besides, I am deeply engrossed by this battle report.“

Thranduil laughed heartily: „Are you indeed?“

Celeborn winked, then turned back to his parchment, and Thranduil walked on. It seemed he was fated to attend on his own tonight, but he didn’t mind. It was to be a more intimate affair then, something to be relished and enjoyed. He couldn’t wait.

Once inside the right wing of the caves, Thranduil followed the rich tapestries that depicted the great deeds of the Valar all the way to the antechamber of the king and queen’s more private dining hall. He brushed by Aulë raising the mountains and Ulmo raising the seas. He watched Nienna spill a thousand tears and Yavanna shot vines from all her bare body to enchain the tyrant Morgoth with. Watched Manwë descend from the heavens and Tulkas bring earthquakes upon the lands of Eä, as Thranduil himself felt he could simply elevate and float into those stories, such was the energy contained within his body. He couldn’t say exactly what caused him to be so overjoyed, but once the dinner invitation had arrived on a silver platter, it was as though his heart worked double and there could be no greater cheer.

Before the oak doors, Thranduil spotted Luthien who was swathed in pale lavender and pink silks, flowers braided into her hair. She whistled a tune that was unfamiliar to Thranduil, but made him smile nonetheless, and she spotted him ere he could speak up.

„My dear brother,“ she said and invited him in for a hug. „I hope to find you well on this fine evening.“ Thranduil held her as close as he could without ruining both their attire and kissed her cheek when she held it out to him.

„More than well,“ he replied. Luthien grinned, but it dropped fast and the song would not return to her lips. Suddenly, she looked not like an ethereal vision of beauty, but a wilted flower, heavy with sorrow.

„I am glad you could attend tonight,“ she said, turning away. Thranduil blinked, heartache quick to make dust of his prior cheer.

„Forgive me, my princess, but you seem out of sorts. What ails you?“

„‘tis nothing,“ Luthien said. And just like that, her magic returned, her song filling the chamber to the brim and Thranduil’s heart raced, but his mind was confused. Had he imagined it? He meant to speak up again, when footsteps echoed down the corridor, the soft clicks of Thingol’s boots, accompanied by the almost inaudible swish of Melian’s bare feet on the hardened earth pathways. They appeared in the doorway, arm in arm, wearing solemn smiles.

„Naneth,“ Luthien breathed and approached her mother, letting herself be embraced, inspected, held close. Thranduil averted his eyes.

Where Luthien’s beauty was celestial and aloof, Melian’s was almost harsh in its perfection, grounded in the principles of this world. Her skin was flawless, her hair alive with movement as the wind played through it and the perfume of flowers clung to her person like a second vesture. Her body was long and curvy, towering half a head above that of her husband and Thranduil couldn’t stand to look at her for more than a breath. This was a sort of beauty that did not speak to him and he felt a heretic for thinking so. It was too spotless, too clean. Alien. 

„Thranduil,“ Thingol said pleasantly as he let go of his wife’s arm and approached the younger elf with a regal air Thranduil would never be able to imitate. Not a hair out of place on his grey head, his eyes deeper than moonlight. Nonetheless, Thranduil stood straighter, pushed his chin out and nodded gravely. „I am glad for your company, it has been nearly a week since last I saw you.“

„Apologies,“ Thranduil replied. „The sword has been calling me as of late and I spent a good deal of time with the border patrols.“

„Your ada told me all about it.“ Thingol laughed, and grasped Thranduil’s shoulder. The sudden intimacy had blood rush to Thranduil’s face „It is truly a marvel,“ the king continued. „It feels like only yesterday that I watched Luthien and you play at war with wooden sticks and leaves for shields, and now look at you. As stout a warrior as your father.“ The blush deepened and Thranduil bowed his head.

„You are most kind, my king.“

„Ada?“ Luthien called out and Thingol let go of him to turn to his daughter. A smile graced his lips, radiant and unyielding and for a split-second Thranduil wished it would have been directed at him. But nothing could compete with the love Thingol had for Luthien. It was a foolish notion.

And not exactly what you desire, a part of him whispered treacherously, but Thranduil shut that part up. It was a desperate, helpless thing, and it was best not to heed it.

„Are we quite ready, my dear?“ Melian said, her voice deep and husky. It made Thranduil’s skin itch and he felt instantly horrified at the thoughts he harboured when night was deepest and coldest.

„Of course,“ Thingol replied and as if they’d been waiting for that cue, the oak doors opened and two servants emerged, dressed in fine silks, to hold them for their royal family. Thranduil joined the other three in entering a room that was dominated by a great table laden with food. More than the whole court could consume likely. And if he let his imagination slip just a fraction, he could believe he was one of them. If only that were his ambition.

Dinner blurred past in a symphony of laughter and sloshing wine. Spirits were high and Thranduil let go of the past days as they had been. Vile creatures of the north had been his main company and he tired of fighting which was why the warm smiles of his second family, as he liked to think of them, were nurture for his bones. The conversation meandered this way and that, from the planned midsummer festival to the newest court gossip. Every time someone asked his opinions, Thranduil chest swelled with pride, but he was most affected when Thingol’s eyes found his across the table, when the king gave a knowing wink to his would-be son. It should have been embarrassing, but the alcohol traversing his bloodstream made Thranduil bask in it. That was, until Melian brought up his father.

“Tell me, Thranduil, how is Oropher? I have been so busy with the tending of our fields, it must have been a month at least since I spoke to him last.”

“Truly?” Thingol asked and sipped his goblet.

“Longer even for me,” Luthien agreed, fanning herself with her napkin. A healthy red glow stood high in her cheeks, but her eyes were sharp as they scanned Thranduil for information. He glanced around the room and folded his hands across his lap. Angling his shoulders in a mirror image of his king. “Is he unwell?”

“No, his duties have kept him tied to his desk, that is all,” Thranduil said carefully.

“Ah, always so diligent,” Melian said. Thranduil nodded and drank more of his wine, glad when Luthien mentioned a run-in she’d had with a group of dwarves who’d gotten lost in the woods. He tried to find his way back into the cosy atmosphere, back to feeling loved and included, but something heavy had settled in his stomach with the mention of Oropher’s work ethics and it remained all the way throughout dessert, a rich, minty fruit salad that made Thranduil feel nauseous. His comments trickled to single words of affirmation or disagreement. The wine too made him feel heavy and weary.

After the food was done, Melian and Luthien excused themselves to shoot a few rounds of arrows with the maidens of the court, leaving Thranduil alone to cower in the vast presence of his king who still wore a tranquil smile that exuded more wisdom than Thranduil could ever hope to gain.

“What can I do for you, Thranduil?” Thingol asked, pouring himself and Thranduil another goblet, but Thranduil left it untouched. His stomach was upset enough as it was, and he could not drink more than one or two without intoxication taking its sweet hold of him.

“Mylord?”

“Please, there is no need for such formalities in this room. Thingol will do just fine,” Thingol said. His smile broadened, crinkling the skin around his eyes. Thranduil’s breath caught and he reached for the goblet of wine after all, if only to have something to hide behind. The liquid was sour in the back of his throat, but it loosened the knot in it, nonetheless. That and the way Thingol leaned forward, rested his chin on long, bare fingers.

“I could not,” Thranduil murmured into his drink. “It would be unseemly.”

“Just know you have my permission. Go on then, tell me what troubles you.” Thingol’s voice was soothing, his words balm for Thranduil’s aches. He had a terrible thought and shoved it aside immediately. 

Thranduil blinked. Had he been so blatant? So obvious? His blush deepened. But he couldn’t speak.

“I suppose you get lonely with Oropher so thoroughly engaged. I feel I should apologize to you for occupying so much of his time.

“Not at all. I have been quite busy myself,” Thranduil protested weakly, but Thingol shook his head. His smile died, replaced by trouble, compassion.

“Still, I should like to see my subjects merry and cared for. If you ever need my counsel or company, feel free to approach me.”

“Thank you mylord, you are most kind.” With that, Thranduil downed the rest of his wine and got up. He bowed deeply, muttered a good night and left the room with his face aflame and his heart beating out of his chest thinking that he should very much like both, and more, and because of that he had to flee.

“How was it?” Oropher asked as Thranduil entered their chambers. He was in the same position still, hunched over his desk. His hands were ink-stained, and the firelight had almost died out, but still, he scribbled away. Though what, Thranduil could not tell.

“Fine,” he sighed and walked over to the lounging area where he slipped out of his overtunic and sank onto red velvet cushions that welcomed him with a soft embrace. He pressed his cheek into the pillows and watched his father’s shaking shoulders. “Ada, what are you writing?”

“A proposal of sorts,” Oropher replied. Thranduil rolled his eyes and turned onto his back, huffing. He supposed he should be grateful that Oropher answered him at all. These past weeks, Thranduil had felt a ghost in his own home, devoid of fatherly love.

“Can I ask you something?” Thranduil said. He hadn’t meant to, but curiosity nagged at him. Having grown up on stories about how their great kingdom had come to be, it was natural for him to want to know more. Especially about its ruler.

“Go ahead.”

“Thingol… what was he like? Before he met Melian, I mean.”

The scratching stopped abruptly, a cracking noise replaced it and then, silence. Thranduil turned onto his stomach to find his father had stiffened, frozen in time. Then, in slow motion, he turned to look over his shoulder, golden eyes half-lidded, lip curled.

“Such familiar terms,” he said and Thranduil shrank back. A darkness had overcome his father, violently and without precedence. “Tell me, does he call you son?”

“Of course not,” Thranduil protested. But neither do you, he thought.

They stared at each other for a drawn-out moment, the sun-like rage so opposed to the moonlight in Thingol’s eyes and something in Thranduil’s chest ached. He wanted that warm gaze, that easy smile, the pride back. Wanted them from his own father.

A log in the hearth burst, a spray of sparks briefly throwing Oropher’s features into stark relief. He looked not like Thranduil’s father, more a vengeful spirit. Then, it all faded and Oropher sagged against the back of his chair, eyes closed. Thranduil furrowed his brow.

“He was gravely changed, after he met her,” Oropher murmured and rubbed his forehead. “Yes, changed. Not the elf I’d come to know and love.”

“How?” Thranduil whispered. He felt he should apologize, though he knew not what for. His thirst for information won out.

“Twofold. He was more regal than before, more of a king. But in that he had lost some of his youthful joy of life. Devotion became his main drive, I think. Devotion that does not stop and consider its victims. But those days are long past.”

“I suppose they are,” Thranduil said. He wanted to know that side of Thingol too. Wanted to know every side of him. But more desperately than that, he wanted to salvage what love was left between his father and himself. “I have a mind to ride out tomorrow. A picnic in the woods, perhaps. Would you care to accompany me?”

“There are more pressing matters than your free time activities,” Oropher said. He remained solid. “For the both of us.”

“Fine,” Thranduil replied and got up, stalked towards his room. “I’m sure I’ll find someone else.”

Thranduil spurred his horse on, following Celeborn down a narrow path that wound between thickets, over a gurgling stream and out into a meadow that was bursting with bloom, colours mingling so much that it almost hurt to look at. Celeborn was off his horse and lounging in the shade of a large elm, his hair fanned out around his head and a loaf of bread in one hand from which tore large chunks and pushed them into his mouth, before Thranduil could even comprehend the spot he’d chosen.

“That is not what I meant when I said picnic,” Thranduil said wryly as he dismounted. He stroked his mare’s neck, tugged his saddlebag off, then gave her a small shove and the two animals took off, stampeding into the woods with happy neighs, nipping at each other.

“It’s my day off,” Celeborn replied through a mouthful of bread. “If you wanted someone to compliment you and look pretty while nibbling on slices of apples, you shouldn’t have asked me.”

Thranduil rolled his eyes and sank into the springy moss next to his friend, his back against the tree to keep him steady. Birdsong was to be their afternoon delight, that and the sweet lull of easy companionship. Thranduil could have closed his eyes, could have relaxed on this lazy day, but something kept him vigilant, awake.

“I am pretty though,” Celeborn said and offered Thranduil the bread. Thranduil took a bit and plucked at it without eating.

“Of course.”

“Alright.” The other elf shifted onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow. Thranduil looked down at him and let go of the bread, leaving it for their feathery friends to feast on. “What is up with you?”

Again, Thranduil struggled to comprehend his conversation partner. Was he so obvious in his misery? So easy to read when faced with great shame? It could not be, could it?

“Why would you say that?” he asked and matched Celeborn’s inquisitive stare.

“Because you would never admit that I’m pretty if you were in your right mind,” Celeborn said, raising his eyebrows. “You would say something in the vain of ‘if it weren’t for your infinite vanity some might consider you passable’… why did you ask me to join you today?”

“Because I enjoy your company,”

“Here is what I am thinking: you, dear friend, are a little lonely. Not that I don’t enjoy rolling around in fields of flowers with you and bathing in the light of the sun and exchanging merry song or whatever activities you like to fill your free time with, but I don’t think that’s really what you want.” Celeborn winked, then flopped back onto his sport and kept attacking the bread. Chewing noisily to drown out the tranquil songs of nature until the entire loaf was gone. Thranduil sighed and closed his eyes. Celeborn smelled of cotton and sweat and if he tuned out the knowledge of his companion’s identity, Thranduil could just imagine it was another who lounged by his side. But when the face of that other manifested in his mind, he tore his eyes open once more. Kept them trailed at Celeborn’s relaxed half-smile.

“And what do I want?” Thranduil asked, his voice hoarse, inflated.

“Something less innocent, something a beautiful maiden might provide?”

Thranduil made an incoherent noise, blushing.

“… or a bachelor, no shame in that.”

“What are you suggesting, Celeborn?” Thranduil said. His thoughts were flooded of images both painful and exquisite and he had more than an idea of what Celeborn was suggesting. It wasn’t like he hadn’t put hand to himself, in the late hours of the day when Oropher was long asleep and all his dirty fantasies were veiled by night seeping into the crevices of his home. To think of another touching him as such brought a rush of desire to his insides, blood to his neck. A deep voice that reverberated in his head.

_A stout warrior, indeed…_

“You know as well as I do. Someone particular you have in mind? If not, I could be of assistance, of course.”

“Absolutely not,” Thranduil snapped.

“So there is someone?” Celeborn asked and scrambled up into a sitting position, a smirk splitting his face. He inched closer to Thranduil, desperate for more information. He wouldn’t get it, no. This was not something Thranduil would ever share, it would be the death of him. The death of his reputation, his pride, his position at court. The death of his integrity, a life destroyed before he’d even begun to fully live it. And yet he ached for his king’s attention. Was almost tempted to trade everything for that touch, that smile, those hands on his-

“There might be,” he sighed, sagging into the tree. Celeborn clapped and squealed in delight.

“I knew it. Well, my dear friend, you have come to the right person. I might know a way or two into your beloved’s heart…”

In the end, Celeborn’s misguided advice slipped from Thranduil’s mind as soon as they parted ways that evening. It was flimsy and vulgar and Thranduil knew there must be a way out of his predicament that didn’t involve any wine or ballads or scandalous flashing of skin. The other elf’s reputation suddenly made a lot more sense to Thranduil and while he didn’t hold it against Celeborn, his friend’s world just wasn’t something Thranduil wanted to enter into.

Besides, the object of his affection was not a lonesome maiden, nor a handsome bachelor. It was their king and as such out of bounds.

Or so Thranduil tried to tell himself.

But when he visited the smithies the next morning to issue a new long-blade only to find that king bent over an anvil, deep in contemplation with one of the dwarven smiths over a fine head piece, eyes aglow, cheeks lively, hair twisted and braided in an intricate knot atop his head and the delicate skin of his arms exposed in the heat of the forgery, well. Thranduil nearly forgot himself. He stood at the entrance of the smaller room, unblinking. He hadn’t had breakfast yet, had wanted to flee from his chambers as soon as he spotted his father occupying their dining table with a huge self-drawn map of the Northern parts of Beleriand. His empty stomach came to pay him back then, jumping, contracting in tune with Thingol’s bicep as he lifted the tongs he held to inspect the dwarf’s work. It was an ugly thing with a crooked nose, tousled beard and several golden teeth which made Thingol’s beauty stand out all the more starkly. Thranduil’s head spun.

“Oy,” the dwarf yapped when he finally spotted him. “I’ve business with your king, come back later.” Thranduil nodded and made to walk away, but it was already too late. Thingol turned and Thranduil’s world shattered. It wasn’t just the absent smile that made Thranduil feel like he would never know true bliss. It wasn’t just the soft sheen of workmanship that accentuated all the angles in Thingol’s well-defined face, nor was it even his lithe posture, his tunic that fell open at the neck or the silver flowers that appeared now, braided into the headdress of the king. It was more than that, a light that surrounded the king, ethereal and other-worldly.

This, Thranduil thought and strained every muscle in his body to look casual, like a mere passer-by, this was what it meant to be a Calaquendë. There was no other explanation for the deep, profound longing he felt at the sight of his king, the need to rejoice in tears and to beg for salvation. This might have been home.

“Thranduil, how good to see you again,” Thingol said and wiped his forehead. “What brings you here?”

I had wanted to commission a new sword, is what Thranduil wanted to say. Should have said. But he didn’t.

“There was something I wanted to discuss, mylord. A matter of… delicacy.” And he cocked his head to the side, glancing at the dwarf that stood, cross-armed, at the anvil, ready to get back to work. He no longer felt he was in control of his actions, but something told him this was the right path to tread on. His ache was too great to resist any longer.

“I see,” Thingol replied and turned to the smith. “Would you care to give us a moment?”

The dwarf grunted, mumbling to himself in his foreign tongue and brushed past Thranduil, not without slamming the smithy door shut behind himself.

“He does not like to be interrupted,” Thingol said, shrugging apologetically. He set down his tools and walked over to Thranduil. Wisps of silver framed his head as they uncurled in the heat of the ovens that lined the back wall and Thranduil felt it seep under his own skin. His breath came heavy, his chest swelled. Big hands landed on his shoulders and drew him into a quick embrace.

“I shall not keep you for long,” Thranduil said. He felt even more sluggish, hazy, when Thingol let go again. How was he to broach the subject? “I cannot help but marvel at your beauty, my king,” Thranduil continued quietly, blushing a little.

“That is very sweet of you Thranduil, thank you. What did you want to discuss?“

“I…” Thranduil broke off, unsure of what to say next. He had no words to express what he felt, deep inside of him. A rock-solid surety that this was what they were meant to be. Together. He splayed his hand over Thingol’s chest and leaned in, dropping his gaze to the king’s oh so inviting lips. His eyes fluttered shut. Not much more space between them, the king’s breath mingling with his own. And then the dream shattered.

„I am a devoted king and husband,“ Thingol said gravely as he took a step back to put some space between them. Thranduil let his hand drop and felt the ground open beneath him. “I cannot.”

„And if it weren’t so? If no one else had claim to your heart?“

„Thranduil,“ the king sighed. His shoulders sagged and he looked over his right shoulder, somewhere far off, where Thranduil couldn’t follow. It pained him greatly to see lines form on Thingol’s face, to think he should have caused him discomfort.

„Mylord can be honest with me,“ Thranduil said, bowing his head. „I understand that I am lesser.“

„Do not say that, young one,“ Thingol interrupted. „Is it not plain that I am gravely affected by your forwardness? You matter a great deal to me, but the nature of our relationship has me feeling towards you like a father would to a son, I believe.“

„Oh.“ Thranduil shrank back, all worry and affection suddenly evaporated by sharp, jagged jabs of shame. To have imagined. To have dared to think. And amidst all that, hope bloomed like the flowers that covered the forest grounds. Like a father would to a son. „Forgive me, my king. I stepped out of line.“

„It is of no consequence,“ Thingol said. He returned his gaze to Thranduil and it was a deeply twilit sky that threatened to drown Thranduil in its eerie charm, its mysterious desirability.

„I shall take my leave.“ Thranduil curtsied, then turned sharply, away from this cocktail of emotions that threatened to extinguish his feä. Forgotten was the sword, the practice he meant to have. Forgotten was all, but the raging fire in his chest. Thranduil stole out of Menegroth like a thief in the night.

The aftermath of that fateful encounter did, on the outside, not amount to much at all. Any servant would declare that things were as they had always been in the royal household and in that of Oropher. The father at his desk, the son fluttering about the court like a leaf in the wind though with much more impact. He rode out with Celeborn, he practiced his sword play, he fulfilled his duties. That was all well.

But Thranduil’s insides were in a constant churn for several weeks after. He felt too sickened by his own urges to have breakfast most days and avoided the royal family wherever he could which was hard given his position at court. Nightmares plagued him and the thought of self-exile grew evermore present in the forefront of his mind. He had no place here, forsaken as he was, especially because his feelings for the king seemed only to steady, expand. And with them, his shame.

It grew exponentially whenever he made eye contact with Thingol which also seemed to be more often now that he was sensitized to it. Thranduil would look up during a council where he represented Oropher and find Thingol’s gaze lingering on himself and would thank the Valar that he rarely got to talk in the company of his elders. He would visit the smithies again to pick up his new blade and catch the king’s glance across a room full of sweltering heat and half-naked bodies, hammering, moulding, puffing, and it would feel like it was only the two of them in there. He and Celeborn would return from a ride across the plains South of the forest and would find Thingol waiting by the gates of Menegroth, unmoving, transfixed by Thranduil.

It was bizarre, and no one else seemed to notice.

_A fabrication of my mind_ , Thranduil thought often. But what was he to do except bide his time? He’d apologized, to mention the incident again would be to metaphorically kill not only himself, but also his father’s standings. He could only pray that the feelings would go away and go about his daily life. Thingol’s eyes following him everywhere.

As such, two months had passed when Thranduil woke up to a knock on the door of their quarters. Disoriented, he pulled it open.

Luthien stood before him, her hair in a thick braid down her back, her slender curves hugged by a simple garb of forest-coloured linens. She held two short-bows and had a full quiver strapped to her backside.

“Rise and shine, beloved brother,” she said with a ferocious grin and held out one set of weapons which Thranduil took, blinking rapidly. “I need someone to accompany and compliment me. Mother and the girls are busy and Beleg’s always on patrol. You are the second-best shot after him.”

“What a grand compliment,” Thranduil muttered.

“You are the better rider if it helps.” She winked and turned away, striding down the corridor and out of his sight. Thranduil sighed. He hadn’t any duties for the day and there was to be the great midsummer revel that night. He needed to prepare himself, both in his looks as well as his emotional walls. Slowly, Thranduil learned to be around his king without blushing again, but tonight was a wild card. The alcohol, the dancing, the spirits. Thranduil would have to be on his A game if he didn’t want to embarrass himself further. But one did not deny their princess, much less their sister. He darted back into his room and all but stumbled into a set of clothes similar to hers, practical, but he couldn’t forego the embroidered hems, the rings, his favourite circlet. Luthien would be beautiful whatever she wore. Thranduil felt he had to put in the effort to keep up. Not that he wanted to outshine her, that was simply impossible, but he wanted to be worthy of her association at least.

“Behave yourself,” Oropher called out from his usual spot. “And don’t be late for the dance.”

Thranduil didn’t stop to reply, nor did he spare his father a glance for he knew already what he would see. A hunched backside. Golden curls set alight by the fire. A dancing quill. Same old. Instead, Thranduil strutted after Luthien who waited for him around a corner, leaning against a bare root that made up the corridor that led outside.

“You came,” she said, and pushed herself off, made for the outside, always following the rich, earthy stream of forest air that traversed Menegroth, beckoning its inhabitants outside. Thranduil felt it shiver against his neck and it spurred him on. Almost joyous yes. But his joy was subdued, of course, as it was doomed to be henceforth.

Quit it, he thought and let the wind carry away his burden, the moss carry him and Luthien out, out into the wild.

The practice grounds were deserted which was rare, but not uncommon. Most in the city were preparing for the night’s party, the patrols would have just left the perimeter. Those that lived in the forest itself rarely came to Menegroth for such trivial things as bow practice. Dew clung to the grass and the trees surrounding the field were groaning, waking up from a deep night’s slumber.

Thranduil watched Luthien set up a target and inspect the arrows she had brought. When she offered the quiver, he took out a couple and set them on a tree stump nearby. Luthien had lied to accommodate him. Thranduil was not that good of a shot and he was nowhere near Beleg’s calibre. On good days, he could hit a target, but his real talents lay with the blade and that was well. He was content, watching Luthien put one arrow after the next into a distant tree, then focus the target she’d brought. It was easy, relaxing in a way Thranduil hadn’t expected. Until it wasn’t.

“Father has been acting strangely,” she said casually as she let loose an arrow that whizzed through the air and hit bull’s eye dead centre. Thranduil’s ears twitched. The way she went on with her practice routine suggested that it was meant to be an offhand comment, but Thranduil knew her. Her shoulders were stiff and the airiness, the aloofness had left her expression, her voice. Never before had Thranduil seen his sister this out of sorts. That, together with the subject matter, had his heart go a mile a minute.

“Do you think so?” Thranduil said. For pretence, he lifted up his own bow, a sturdy, ornamented thing of green and gold that was warm to the touch. His mind reeled. So she had noticed too? But she couldn’t have noticed the direction of the strange behaviour. Thranduil had barely seen her these past weeks, caught up as she tended to be in chasing stars and wandering the forest. But Luthien was intelligent. Thranduil felt sweat bead on his temples. He had to be very careful.

“I do. I am worried for him, you see.” She shot another and Thranduil followed suit, the shafts vibrating in tandem where they’d hit the target. For a moment, they both stared, caught up in pride and companionship, and then Luthien turned to him, an age-old sadness in her usually so vibrant eyes. Thranduil’s breath caught on the severity of the emotion. Bleak were the days when a beauty such as herself treaded the world subdued by a sorrow this big. And still, Thranduil prayed he wasn’t the subject of it.

“Why? What has happened?” He put aside his weapon.

“Not any one event,” Luthien sighed. “But he has been absent-minded as of late and even before that, something felt off between my parents. The court knows them as this great, rock-solid couple, this love story that will grace the world forever be it in life or myth, and yet as soon as they are out of public, they go separate ways. Mother will have a bath and ask me to join her instead of him. Father will walk the forest’s paths on his own. They have taken to sleeping in separate chambers. What does it mean, Thranduil?” Her eyes were big, round, full of unshed tears, more than could fill all of Ulmo’s oceans and Thranduil’s heart broke for her. She was so young and full of mirth, she shouldn’t have to take on the burdens of her parents.

“I would not dare assume to know the mind of my king.”

“Please,” she said and put down her bow as well, pressed her palms together. “He talks to you, does he not? Can you not find out what haunts him? I cannot bear it.”

“I do not-“

“Thranduil, I ask this not as your princess nor your superior. I am begging you, as your sister and dear friend, to find out what we can do to help him.” Luthien’s lip quivered, but she held the tears back. Her stance was fierce, and something flickered in the air around her so that, for a brief instance, Thranduil was almost afraid of her.

“I will do what I can,” Thranduil murmured.

“Oh,” she said softly, and the energy faded so that she was nothing more than a child, scared for her parents. With a lump in his throat, Thranduil drew her against his chest, cheek pressed to her hair. She held onto him tightly and he could almost taste her worry. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he was secretly relieved to hear of the rift between his king and queen. And, worse, pleased. Oh, sweet damnation.

Thranduil had no time to drink in the beauty of the ball room, the revel already in full swing, dancing, singing, laughing, fireflies illuminating the place, when he entered. As soon as he set foot into the the hall, Celeborn snatched his arm and pulled him to the side of the room where a landscape of cushions and couches had been built. Long-limbed bodies clad in flowing silks and juicy velvets lounged there, laughed in tune to the music that came from the far end of the room, sipped wine from silver goblets and Celeborn was right at home among them. He dragged Thranduil down onto a couch and gestured for a waiter to bring both of them a cup. Celeborn too was swathed in rich fabrics of pure starlight with golden highlights. Translucent beads hemmed his cuffs and neckline and he had painted a sort of glitter across his cheeks – the newest court fashion Thranduil realized when he was the only one around who hadn’t painted his face – in a nod to Elbereth no doubt.

“You look strangely beautiful, my friend,” Thranduil said.

“You are not too bad yourself,” Celeborn laughed and clinked their cups together, then downed his whole. Slightly out of breath, but ready to celebrate life, Thranduil mirrored him. Drained the cup, and then another and only then did he sink into the cloudy puffs of fabric and let himself be lulled in by the incense filled air, the low notes, and the high-pitched voices. Watching the dancers made him dizzy in the best way possible and he couldn’t wait to meld into the crowd, become one of them. No need to be hasty though, not on a night like this.

“Tell me,” Celeborn went on. He wrapped his arm around Thranduil’s shoulder and leaned back, winking as his gaze caught that of a young maiden across the room who blushed fiercely, then turned towards her giggling friends. “Have you applied my generous advice yet?”

“You are indeed generous with your advice, even if unprompted. To which instance are you referring?" Thranduil asked and hid behind his goblet.

“Very funny, Thranduil. Do you not remember our little talk in the forest?”

“Hmm.” Thranduil let his eyes wander and, like a force of nature, they were drawn towards the other end of the lounging area where Thingol sat on a high-backed chair. He was engaged in a conversation with Oropher who had not only left their chambers for the occasion, but had dressed to it too, looking finally like the prince he was. But of course, he paled next to Thingol’s stately dress, his headpiece of vines and berries, the gleaming aura that surrounded him. Oropher was caught up in some monologue and as if Thingol had noticed Thranduil, he looked up. His eyes widened the slightest fraction before he tore himself away, back to the matter at hand. So did Thranduil, feeling his neck grow hot.

“I take that as a no,” Celeborn said.

“There has not been a reasonable occasion…”

“And if you wait for one there never will be. Is he here tonight?”

Thranduil fought hard not to glance at his king again, feeling both shame and desire spread, mixed with the sweet poison of the alcohol that brought more heat to his cheeks. He tried to imagine what his father would say if he knew of these feelings, how Luthien would despise him if she realized the extent to which Thranduil wanted to make sure Thingol was well, but it didn’t work. From the way they sat together on the couch, Celeborn grinned down at Thranduil and played with his hair. Leaned forward to whisper into his friend’s ear and his breath was hot and sour. Uncomfortable only because Thranduil wanted to be this close to another.

“You look like you have seen an evil spirit, dear,” Celeborn murmured. “How about we make your conquest a little jealous?”

“That is a terrible idea.” Thranduil turned his head away from Celeborn, tried to untangle himself and they nearly keeled over, a heap of fabric and platinum hair, rings clinking together, empty goblets falling to the floor. In any other situation, Thranduil would have found this funny, but the thought that Thingol might be watching sickened him. He didn’t want the king to get a wrong impression

“Alright, alright,” Celeborn said, laughter replacing the seductive undertone. “I was just fooling around.”

When Thranduil managed to tear himself free from his friend’s clutches to see whether Thingol had noticed, all that was left of the king was the hem of his robe, disappearing through a door.

It was a simple feeling, in the end, that drove Thranduil to follow Thingol out of the room. Concern for a king, for a beloved father figure, for one Thranduil saw as his closest kin. Celeborn had already struck up a dance with the blushing elf from before and Thranduil feigned fatigue to others who tried to draw him into talk, waltz, wine, singing. The corridors to either side of the hall were deserted, and Thranduil followed a whim, down a dusty path that wound upwards. No tapestries here, just ivy-clad walls that swallowed all sound.

When he found him, the king stood on a lonely balcony that overlooked the throne room which was deserted and echoey. Thranduil halted, his breath knocked out of him. His limbs ached because of the misery written into the lines of Thingol’s face, mirroring that of his daughter only hours before, and he wanted to take care of him. Tow him back from the land of the dreadful to that of the lively, the joyful, the awe-struck.

“Leave me alone, please,” Thingol said when Thranduil stepped out of the shadow and up to him. The greeting died on his lips.

“Are you still angry with me?” he asked.

“I was never angry with you.”

“Then why this sorrow? What causes you pain, my king?”

“You cannot understand,” Thingol replied and stared hard at Thranduil. His hand trembled where it gripped the railing of the balcony. Aching for something to hold onto. And it was true, Thranduil might not understand. Might not ever know the depths of Thingol’s despair. But he had in mind a cure for it, something to fill the void.

“My lord,” Thranduil whispered, and brought his fingers up to cup the king’s cheek. He could not help himself, was a slave to his own instincts. He wanted this so desperately and the fact that he knew, rationally, how wrong this was, did nothing to stop him. “Will you not let me take care of you?”

An eternity passed between them, compact and heavy in this space they occupied, an eternity in which Thranduil’s anxiety grew and the resistance faded from Thingol’s hard stare, the lines smoothed out. Whatever his reply, Thranduil would be doomed. Finally, the king exhaled.

“Fine.”

Thranduil moved forward, kissed Thingol. Hesitant at first, only a brush, but when those warm, plush lips moved against his own, Thranduil gained confidence. It was intoxicating, mixed perfectly with the alcohol in his blood stream and Thranduil drank in as much of it as he could. His hand on cold skin the only other point of contact between them. Thingol made no noise as he kissed back, but his breath came fast when they broke apart for air.

“May I touch you, my king?”

“You may.”

With shaking fingers, Thranduil peeled open Thingol’s breeches to reveal his hardness, long and pale in the half-dark. He stole one more kiss of his king’s lips before sinking to his knees, breathless. He put his tongue to the pulsing flesh and licked down, watching the other’s reaction closely.

Thingol stood, eyes half-lidded. Stoic and statuesque, nothing but the swell of his length against Thranduil’s mouth to suggest he was enjoying this. His gaze was far away and that too had to be a symptom of his suffering. Thranduil braced himself on Thingol’s thigh with one hand and took the other to the base of his erection stroking lightly as his tongue found the tip and caressed it.

When he wrapped his lips around the shaft, sucking it into his mouth, Thingol’s breath caught, for the slightest instance, and that spurred Thranduil on. His own desire was coiled tightly in his stomach, pressing against the fabric of his breeches, but this was not his moment, not his salvation. He was tending to his king, here to serve, to soothe, to ease a monarch’s sorrow, a father’s pain. Cure a loneliness that rooted deep within Thingol’s heart, yes.

Thranduil matched his strokes to the rhythm in which he moved his mouth up and down the erection, used his tongue to worship and laud his king and, oh, there it was again, that catching of breath, that stiffening of Thingol’s muscles. Admittedly, Thranduil knew not the intricacies of technique, but he felt them unnecessary. With a heart as swollen and devoted as his own felt in that moment he could not think he would be lacking. Thranduil moved steadily, accelerating, licking and stroking.

When he let his fingers graze Thingol’s jewels they tightened. When Thranduil looked up, Thingol’s eyes had fallen shut. When Thranduil moaned around the tender flesh in his mouth, going hard and fast now, his own desire to the point of bursting, Thingol made an incoherent noise. And when his hot seed spilled into Thranduil’s mouth, when he thought he was going to retch and spit with how full it was, Thingol’s thumb came up to Thranduil’s cheek. Touched it briefly, then fell away as Thranduil swallowed and swallowed until there was nothing left.

“Get up,” Thingol said, and Thranduil did. Recoiled when he came face to face, not with an expression of serenity or bliss, but dark rumbling thunder. If anything, Thingol looked even graver than he had prior to Thranduil’s care. He stood before Thranduil, a towering god, and Thranduil was caught between fear and desire.

“My king, are you unwell?” he asked timidly.

“This was a grave mistake.”

“Did you not enjoy yourself?”

“That is not the issue.”

“Then what is it?”

“Thranduil,” Thingol said, turning away. “Just leave. And do not breath a word of this to anyone.”

“Where have you been?” Oropher asked as Thranduil attempted to slip into his bedroom unnoticed. He straightened, caught on the spot, and combed his fingers through his hair. The cold harshness of his voice had the last of Thranduil’s lust evaporate and he felt childish, bare. He crossed his arms over his chest. “I missed you at the dance, you used to save one for me.”

“I did not think you wanted it,” Thranduil snapped.

“Why would I not?”

Thranduil didn’t reply.

“I see,” Oropher said. “You are still upset that I have been so engaged with my work.”

It burst out of Thranduil then, the frustration of their situation, their brittle relationship paired with the belated rejection of Thingol. It was too much. “I care for your work about as much as you care for me which is, apparently, not much. You want me to dance with you? How about you try and life with me first? Me, not your ledgers. Me, not your fantastical battle strategies that will never see the light of day. You are no warlord, no king. Even our king has more time for his children.”

“Last I heard, Thingol had but one child.”

Thranduil’s heart skipped a beat. Oh dear Valar. Oh no.

“I did not mean-“

“Think very carefully about what you want to say next, Thranduil,” Oropher growled and stepped forward, a vengeful vision of gold and scarlet. “Where have you been?”

“I was tending to the king,” Thranduil said quietly, eyes fixed to the earth under his feet. He waited for the explosion, the rage, the inevitable outburst. It came not. The next thing Thranduil felt was arms wrapping around him. Strong and warm and smelling of home.

“I am so sorry,” Oropher said, voice tear-stained, and kissed the top of his head. “I should have realized. I should have protected you, oh Elbereth, I am so sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Thranduil asked, perplexed. He returned the hug tentatively, eased against his father’s chest like he hadn’t done in months. “Ada, what is it?” But before Oropher could answer, the door to their chambers burst open.

“You,” Oropher hissed and let go of Thranduil, taking up position in front of him, both arms spread wide. Thranduil peeked over his father’s shoulder to see Thingol standing in their doorway, his crown discarded, his hair dishevelled. Utter panic about his whole person. “Get out.”

Thranduil’s mouth went dry. Prince or not, Oropher had no right to address their king as such, and no reason either.

“I can explain,” Thingol said, panting. His eyes flitted between Thranduil and Oropher and Thranduil had no idea what was going on. “You do not understand, it is not what you think.” And what was that? Oropher couldn’t have known what had happened. Could he? Thranduil inched away from his father, from the scene as a whole. He felt dizzy and regretted those quick goblets.

“I understand very well,” Oropher replied. “You think just because you are our king, you can do as you please. You act as though you care for your people. But I can see through your façade. You have been corrupted ever since you met that forest sprite. She bewitched you, Elwë. Bewitched you and destroyed you, but that does not mean you get to do the same thing to my son. Even if he’d wanted it, you should never have touched him.”

“That is not what happened, Oropher, I tried to stop him,” Thingol said, held his hands up in defence, but his voice was tired. Feeble. There was no real fight in him.

“How dare you _blame_ him for your filthy actions.” It dawned on Thranduil, if only a little. This was all wrong. Oropher had it all wrong.

“No, father, you misunderstand-“ But he was quickly cut off, no chance to explain or redeem himself. Or Thingol.

“You go to your room right now,” Oropher said through pressed teeth. “Leave this to me.”

“Father-“

“NOW.”

Thranduil cowered, scuffling backward until he felt the door of his room under his fingers. Thingol wasn’t looking at him, and so Thranduil fled to the safety of his own chamber, fled, hid. When the lock clicked shut, he doubled over, his stomach cramping in nausea, and begged for all of this to be a horrible dream. Because if it wasn’t, his whole life was in shambles.


End file.
